


To Himling: Part Seven

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?, tropes tropes tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:56:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: The Durin family lies in splinters; an old friend arrives to piece them back together.





	1. Guardian

Little in this world escaped Fenja’s notice. Thorin used to call her _Tardûna_, The Sentinel, for her uncanny knowledge of his doings. But he also called her _Manarrarûnamê_, She Who Champions Me, and _Manarrakûnamê_, She Who Keeps My Secrets— depending upon whether he succeeded or fell embarrassingly flat. 

She had been wet-nurse to him and his siblings in Erebor, before the Great Wandering. Her own little boy would have been Thorin’s age had a fever not carried him off. Heart-sore, she and her late husband never tried for another. But when Thorin’s mother likewise died, grief-stricken Thráin beseeched the two for aid. His children became theirs, as though nature-born. 

In later years Fenja would regret favoring Thorin over his brother Frerin. But Frerin simply preferred her husband the way Thorin preferred herself, and there you have it. _Can’t force open a lock with the wrong key,_ they say. Dís, now… Being a girl, Dís had always been specially cherished. Her children – Fíli, honey-colored and quiet; Kíli, black-eyed and kinetic – were dearer to Fenja than life. 

But these Durins! Who could fathom their ways? 

For the last two weeks, Dís had kept to her rooms. She would not see Fíli until she summoned him; she summoned Kíli, but he refused to come. Worst of all, she took all of her meals in her closed parlor, which infuriated Fenja; she liked the food she cooked to be eaten all in one place, at one time, by everyone together. 

Each morning, the boys left the stronghold carrying bows and belt knives. They remained scarce until late afternoon, returning with kiss-swollen lips and stickles in their hair— but no game. They blindly ate whatever supper Fenja put in front of them, then disappeared lickety-split up the back stairs, hand in hand. 

Could she see what they were forging together? Maybe. Did she approve? It wasn’t her business. Would she speak one syllable about it to a single breathing soul? Never. Not for nothing had Thorin called her Manarrakûnamê. 

But still she was Tardûna, seeing all; the post came with responsibilities. 

_Don’t you dare,_ she told the boys one morning before they could slip away. _You’ll stay home today._

_Who says so? Mother?_ Fíli shot back. Buried beneath his anger, a pathetic kernel of hope. 

_No,_ Fenja snapped. _But you’re hurting her every time you leave, and that’s going to stop._

A voice plaintive and small: _Does it hurt you?_

Leave it to Kíli to ask that. Fenja’s heart softened— not all the way, but some. _Child, you haven’t the wherewithal to cut through this tough old hide,_ she told him, stroking his jacket sleeve. 

_You know why we leave,_ Fíli challenged— half-heartedly, for he too wanted to be stroked. 

_I do know, and I don’t care, _said Fenja. That brought him up short, but his look of naked pain had a like effect on the old woman. Her brittle hand groped for his. _Stay in the kitchen with me. Your mother won’t fight you here. She knows my rules— as do you. No warfare in my kingdom._

She rewarded their obedience as always – with cake – and they made their bed on the pantry floor.


	2. Courage

_Listen to me and be calm._

Fíli squinted up at her, his knife-hand abruptly stilled. _What did we do now?_

What other sovereign in all the land would sit at a kitchen table peeling apples for pie? Fenja tried to imagine Thráin in Fíli’s place and found it hopeless. 

_Nothing. Yet. Will you listen? Someone has come to see your mother—_

Kíli – hard at work grinding roasted spices with the hand-mill – halted and stared at Fenja with clear suspicion. 

_—about something urgent. They are in her sitting room, and the door is shut. I cannot say much. But the visitor is someone you know, and they are talking about you._

Fíli laid his knife down and made to rise only to be forcibly reseated by Fenja. She pressed down on his shoulders until she was certain he’d stay put; then she lightly tugged one of his braids and turned to stoke the oven.

The brothers’ eyes met across the room. Then Kíli slowly resumed his grinding, and Fíli picked up another apple. 

Fenja had just slid the pie into the oven when Haya appeared at the kitchen door. With typical economy, she said nothing, only pointed over her shoulder. 

Before she allowed them to leave, Fenja made Fíli and Kíli stand before her for inspection. A brush here, a tug there, a licked thumb rubbed against an invisible bit of grime. Then she kissed each brother and clasped her own hands strongly in front of her heart. 

_(Courage.)_

Surely Thorin would agree with his Manarrarûnamê.


	3. Searching

As they stood outside the closed door of Thorin’s library, their hands instinctively joined between them. Seconds later, borne forward by a surge of relief, they launched themselves at the lone figure towering over the hearth. 

_Tharkûn, _Fíli cried. 

This was the old man’s honorary Khuzdul name; only outsiders called him Gandalf. He turned to them laughing. _Dear boys! This is a fine greeting— do you mean to toss me into the fire?_

It did not elude his notice that both brothers embraced him so tightly they trembled. 

_Let me sit, you’ve quite knocked the breath out of me!_ Tharkûn lowered himself into a large armchair brought out especially for his comfort. Fíli and Kíli sat cross-legged on the hearth rug by his knee, backs to the fire and wary eyes scouring the room for Dís. 

_Are you stopping for the night?_ Fíli asked. 

_I am; perhaps even two, at your mother’s request. I’m to take a look at you, though I can see no reason for anxiety. Hale and sunburnt, the both of you! Did you receive your present from Beorn?_ Tharkûn winked at Kíli, who grinned. _Don’t underestimate the gesture! You know how little love Beorn harbors for dwarrowkind, yet he took a liking to you. Perhaps he recalls the prodigious amount of honey two young dwarves consumed under his roof._

Fenja entered with a tray laden with cups of butter-tea, a Khuzd drink for which Tharkûn had developed his own insatiable craving. He blew on his cup and took an appreciative sip. _How fare these fine lads?_ he asked Fenja. 

_Noisy enough to make a cake fall in the oven._

Tharkûn chuckled and turned to Fíli. _Your mother told me of the shrine you and your brother made for Thorin. She says it is most beautiful. Will you take me there after tea? I’d rather pay my respects in his true home than… well, we’ll let that subject lie for the meantime. Tell me all your news!_

Disarmed by the notion of their mother paying them any compliment at all, the brothers began to leapfrog over one another with descriptions of their summer. Both excised all mention of terrors, phantoms, fits, quarrels, moonlit nights and maternal schisms. Undeceived but patient, Tharkûn let them spin their illusions. In a moment, he would strip all subterfuge away. 

He held his gnarled hand out to Fíli. 

First he examined Fíli’s wrist—pressing the bones, bending the hand this way and that, asking Fíli to flex his fingers and make a fist. Next came the ankle, and he laughed when Fíli begged pardon for his grimy bare foot. _Think nothing of it,_ he declared. _I’m glad that you’re able to walk wherever you wish._

After long scrutiny of the ridge of scar tissue encircling Fíli’s ear, the old man gently took his chin and turned him so that they were eye to eye. 

Fíli found himself in the grasp of a force which, though benevolent, brooked no resistance. Knowing it to be only Tharkûn, Fíli allowed him in without demur. The old man set about searching the library of his mind, touching on each tome – _Childhood, Father, Mother, Thorin, War_ – and waiting for permission before turning its pages. In this way, Fíli’s innermost thoughts opened to Tharkûn without his having to say a word. 

There was no fear in it until the end. As Tharkûn came closer and closer to the volume entitled _Kílimê_, Fíli panicked. In his mind, he began to block his interloper’s approach. Across every pathway, he put a barrier; on every door he threw the bolt. But clever Tharkûn found a way around every obstacle. 

Fíli then attempted to break the connection between them in the best way he knew how. Clutching Kíli’s book jealously to his chest, he ran to the stone steps at the center of his mind and started down, down, fleeing deeper and deeper into the shadowy earth… 

_There, my boy._ All finished, said Tharkûn mildly, patting Fíli’s shoulder. 

Sent back to his place by the fire, Fíli’s stomach roiled as Kíli knelt in front of Tharkûn. He appeared calm as the old man probed his shoulder and closely inspected the scars on his temple. _Either he doesn’t understand the danger he faces,_ Fíli thought, _or he doesn’t count it as important. Either way, nothing will remain hidden. Kíli is no match for Tharkûn._

True, innocent Kíli held nothing back; he flung his soul wide open for Tharkûn to walk inside. As the old man perused _Childhood_, joy refracted through Kíli’s features like light through a sunstone. He looked hopeful during _Mother_ and mournful during _Thorin_, though he tried to appear stoic either way. _Erebor_ made him stiffen and hang his head. _War_ he could not abide at all; at Tharkûn’s lightest touch upon its binding, he gasped and pulled away. The old man desisted at once and held Kíli’s face in both hands until his anguish eased. 

Then the crucial moment arrived. When Tharkûn asked to see the book entitled _Fílimê_, Kíli himself drew it from the shelf and eagerly handed it over. His confidence – no, pride – in what existed between its covers cast Fíli’s mistrust into harsh relief. He watched his brother brim with delight at being able to share the whole of their tale with a trusted friend; he heard Tharkûn’s chuckle as he laid his blessing hand on Kíli’s crown— 

_Is it truly safe?_ wondered Fíli. In his mind he halted on the staircase and looked back. Far above, a light flickered… 

_Mim._

Startled, Fíli opened his eyes. Kíli grinned at him, hand outstretched. 

_(Come here by me.)_

He moved closer and found himself almost instantly dragged across Kíli’s lap in a headlock. Laughing, he threw his arms around his brother’s waist and dug his toes into the rug for traction in a bid to knock him off center. 

_Boys!_ Tharkûn laughed. 

_It doesn’t hhhurt,_ Kíli said. It took several seconds for Fíli to realize his brother wasn’t replying to their guest. Kíli repeated it softly: _It doesn’t hurt, Mim._

He stood on stone steps down in the dark of his mind, hugging Kíli’s book to his breast. Far away, Tharkûn looked at him with a compassion as palpable as the touch of a hand. Of course it was a risk, but wasn’t everything in this flaw-filled world? So Fíli climbed the steps, up and up and up, opened the book, let Tharkûn see. 

And Kíli was right; it did not hurt.


	4. Secrets

_It is serious,_ Tharkûn rumbled and took a long draw on his pipe. 

Only the embers of the hearth fire illuminated the sitting room at this late hour. Dís hoped that the shadows hid the anxious hands writhing in her lap. 

_Then you see what I see,_ she responded. 

_It is but a ripple on the surface. Their devotion is fathomless. Fated. Rare. To separate them, even for the good of your folk, may be a very great sin._

_But brothers, Tharkûn?_ came her broken whisper. She swallowed hard and appealed to him with her eyes.

Tharkûn passed her his pipe. She accepted it in shaky hands and took a deep, fortifying drag before returning it. _And not just brothers, _she resumed._ Heir apparent and heir presumptive of the Durin line._

Tharkûn shook his head. _There will be no heir presumptive in Kíli. He rejects the role utterly._

_But until Fíli weds and fathers a son— _Dís’ objection died away as Tharkûn continued to shake his head. 

_He wants no one but Kíli. And he may well point to your brother's example as a precedent to remain unmarried, _he told her. _Unless it is the dwarvish custom to force such things… but you cannot wish to force him. I do not believe this can be your desire._

_It is not._

_Then you must let it lie._

_I can't. I can't._

_Why not, my lady?_

She could not, would not answer. 

_You harbor a fear far beyond your power to speak it aloud. Will you let me help you?_ So saying, Tharkûn extended Dís his hand. 

Like her sons, she let him in; unlike her sons, she neither hid nor handed over her ciphers. Tharkûn could find anything he wanted; it was nothing to her whether he still wanted it once he found it. She watched his face without expression on her own, and when he was finished, she remarked acidly, _You see now that Thorin set other precedents._

Tharkûn regarded her with solemn regret. _I did not know._

_No one did._ Her stare penetrated Tharkûn deeper than he would have allowed, had the contents of her mind not startled him so. _Not even our father could pry it from me. But he guessed. He dragged my brothers to war— to make men of them, he said. One returned a corpse. The other might as well have._ She clutched the armrests_. And there is more. The boys' father— and Thorin._

Tharkûn's eyebrows lifted. 

_I approved of it,_ Dís blurted out, defensive. _It made them happy and hurt no one, least of all me. It is not unheard of among us. So many of our men remain unwed, they often elect to spend their lives together. As companions, fellow bachelors, sometimes more— who can say a word against it? What takes place behind barred doors is no one’s business._

_Agreed._

_But make no mistake, Tharkûn. It began for Thorin with Frerin, his own flesh. And it ended in grief. _Distraught, she leaned forward. _I loved my brothers. I kept their secret. I watched one lose the other and be destroyed himself. I love my sons a thousand times more. They call you Wise Counsel. Counsel me._

Rather than reply straight away, Tharkûn once again offered Dís his pipe. They passed it back and forth in silence for a time until its contents were exhausted. When the last smoke ring dissipated against the ceiling, Tharkûn gave his beard a contemplative tug. 

_My lady,_ he commenced, _in his mind your elder son turns this way and that, hoping to escape the web of Erebor. In every direction, he sees failure and ruin. Abdication will tear apart his kingdom; rule will estrange him from his other half. A sovereign cannot love one over the many; it is an indulgence he cannot allow himself. He knows this, and it torments him._

She looked away. _And this you learned from him by using your trick._

_No; he told me himself. He spoke the moment he let me in the second time. _I will not give him up— _these were his very first words. He said that it must be so, and if you cannot see this…_ Tharkûn chose at this moment not to be gentle; he wished to deliver Fíli’s words exactly as they had been offered. _If you will not see this and you want them to go, they will obey._

No response as Dís struggled with this news. 

_He knows that he will be widely censured,_ Tharkûn pressed on. _He believes you will despise him—_

_Never! Not ever! _The words burst out before Dís could weigh them, but she knew as soon as they emerged that she would not have tried to stop them. 

_Then you must hope for deliverance from this impasse by some other means._

_Be plain. Please, Tharkûn. I cannot reach the conclusion myself; I must be led._

_After Fíli and Kíli comes Dáin,_ Tharkûn continued. _He is an honorable man, an experienced warrior and leader, and he has the people’s trust. He has already been serving as King by proxy for many months._ A pause. _He is ready… should there be need for him._

Dís willed herself as still as a statue. 

_Dáin travels west as we speak, _Tharkûn told her. _He comes to cede power to your son and to bring him back east— alone, for we know Kíli will not follow. He loves the Lonely Mountain perhaps even less than the Heir._

She nodded. _He is very bitter._

_Until death, Erebor will be Fíli's prison— unless he himself sunders the chain. We cannot do this for him. He alone must act with full understanding of the consequences. For there will be consequences, my lady._ Seeing Dís blanch in the lamplight, Tharkûn made haste to add, _Oh, not as harsh as all that, believe me! You are Dwarrow, not orcs. But the general response may be rather... chilly for a time._

_I know this. I know my folk and their ways._ Dís pressed her hand to her abdomen, fighting for self-control. 

Tharkûn regarded her with empathy. _Cruel as it may sound, there is wisdom in Fíli’s idea of leaving. I think it would be better if he did so with his mother’s consent and help— not to enter into exile, but to find a safe place for himself and Kíli. If it should come to pass that Dáin accepts the Crown, is there no such place you can send your sons? You know they cannot be parted, and you know they cannot stay._

Silence stretched out like an ever-lengthening thread. Then Dís’ face – bloodless and drawn – lifted slightly. 

_There is one,_ she began.


	5. Gifts

_What do you think, Mother?_

The household had gathered for breakfast under the courtyard beech trees. After a meal of chestnut porridge and tea sweetened with Kíli’s honey, they sat watching the sunlight sift down through beryl-green leaves. 

Fíli had disappeared back into the house, returning with a linen parcel under his arm. He unfolded it and held up a fine tunic of deep-blue wool felt edged with the winter fur of a lynx. Along every hem, a repeating pattern of Thorin’s personal cipher was embroidered in gold and silver filament.

The way his eyes clung to Dís made plain his hopes for something more than mere opinion. 

When he and Kíli first appeared (strongarmed by Fenja, and holding hands to boot), their mother barely acknowledged their presence. She wanted to, of course, but in fury or fondness— who could guess? Fenja had an inkling, but she had resolved to keep her trap shut and let these Durins unmuddle themselves. 

Pretending indifference, Fíli took a seat at a remove from Dís but in her direct sightline; not facing her himself but allowing her to look her fill of him. This tactic reaped results: Dís watched him so longingly that Fenja nearly pinched her foster-daughter’s arm_. All this pining and yearning,_ she thought, _yet too pig-headed to admit it! Go to him, or call him to you— but enough with the dance!_

Kíli’s strategy proved the best of all. He hesitated in the center, wavering between them, making himself a prize to vie for. Soon Dís stretched out her hands. _Trouble_, she called; her special nickname for him, laden with affection. As she drew Kíli down next to her, all three Durins sighed— and Fenja rolled her eyes. 

_Why, where is my memory?_ Tharkûn broke in. _I bring news of a certain Master Burglar._

Reclusive and stranger-shy like most dwarven women, Dís had never encountered a fur-foot in or outside of her home. But her sons had told her enough about Bilbo to enable her to laugh over Tharkûn’s account of the ill-fated auction at Bag End. _The burglar burgled,_ she ventured to Kíli’s delight— and Tharkûn’s. It cheered him considerably to see that whatever Dís’ trespass, her youngest child was eager to forgive. 

The sight of Dís smoothing Kíli’s unruly hair encouraged a hesitant Fíli to speak up. _We should send Bilbo something of Thorin’s, _he began. 

_I shall be travelling back that way soon,_ Tharkûn readily replied. _I will bring him whatever you wish._

Now, gift in hand, Fíli addressed Dís with caution and a lowered head— but he addressed her. _What do you think, Mother?_

_It is… it is perfect._ Tears pricked Dís eyes; to cover her emotions, she turned to Tharkûn. _It belonged to my brother when he was a child. I should think it will fit a grown fur-foot._

_Indeed. It will look splendid together with the mithril-coat._

_The mithril-coat the fur-foot already has, and little may be done about that,_ Bhurin interjected. _But why give him this heirloom as well, Fíli? Wouldn’t you like your own little lad to have it when the time comes?_

Every other person present struggled not to react. Dís hid anguish; Fenja, vexation; Kíli, confusion, Tharkûn, foreknowledge. Surprisingly, Fíli made the best recovery. He bowed courteously to Bhurin and replied, _Bilbo was a special friend of Uncle’s and nearly a brother to us. He deserves to have it. We can afford to be generous._ He then smiled the type of bright, hard smile that checks further discussion. 

_I’ve written him a l-letter,_ Kíli spoke up. He pulled a wad of haphazardly-folded and ink-blotched paper from his belt pouch. Writing still posed him a difficulty, and his runes had a habit of veering sideways. _The jist of it is that I www… wish he would come soon. I—I—I would like us, Fíli and me, to see him be-before—_

Breaking off, he shrugged. Regardless of the strides he'd made, his speech continued to fragment whenever the topic under discussion upset him. His unfinished thought, Dís realized with a pang, was the closest he’d yet come to acknowledging Erebor. 

_Dearest, would you like to ride with Tharkûn? _she put forward in a tight voice. _I believe he mentioned wanting to see the deer forest, and I must speak with Fíli for a bit. It’s nothing, my love, _she added, perceiving the tension that flashed through Kíli’s eyes. _Just some trifles._

The unworried face Fíli wore concealed a tempest.


	6. Truce

In the light of the altar lamp they waited— Dís standing; Fíli at her feet. 

The largest string on Thorin’s harp quivered and moaned as if a single fingernail had stroked it top to bottom. 

_Be easy,_ said Dís. 

Fíli lifted his forehead from the floor and slowly pushed himself upright. He sat back on his ankles, hands clasped, chin lowered to chest. This conversation was serious business; until his mother gave him leave, he dared not raise his eyes. 

_Once, back in the spring, you and Kíli wouldn’t sit next to each other at table,_ Dís observed. She did not take her gaze from Thorin’s harp. _You hardly spoke to one another. Do you remember that?_

_Yes._

_It seemed so strange, so unlike the two of you. And the next day you were back together and closer than ever._ Now she looked down at him. _Did something happen then?_

Fíli dragged in a breath as effortful as his very first in this world. His hands pulled towards his middle in a nervous, self-protective gesture. _We... we had been to the deer forest._

_I see._ Dís pondered it, then brightened. _The doe! Yes?_

_We saw her for the first time that day. And for the first time… I realized…_ Fíli fell silent and pressed his right hand over his heart, showing what he could not say. 

_Kíli, too?_

_Kíli, too._

_So that’s what she meant to you— your doe. And why you kept going back, even after you quarreled._

He held himself stone-still. _Yes._

Two hearts beat in painful silence. 

_I believe you,_ Dís muttered. _I give you leave to look at me now._

Fíli’s gaze lifted, not high enough to meet his mother’s eyes, but at least level with her clasped hands. 

_For a long time, I've seen without understanding. I did not let myself admit it. But I knew. The way you... _Her voice faded, then rallied again. _Be easy, son. I know you tell the truth._

She studied his features, finding there her golden child of long ago, her rebellious truant, her battered warrior. Therein, she now knew, also dwelt a man whose entire lifetime portion of love had settled on the one person it should never have considered. Other pledged couples might freely invite the world to witness and share their joy; but not her sons. Their life together would be strange and sweet; it would also be inutterably lonely. 

_How will they bear it?_ she cried out to the Maker. 

_You know how,_ came the answer_. You helped your brothers bear it._

_Dáin approaches,_ she told her eldest, briskly swiping at her eyes and scrubbing color back into her cheeks. _He brings the Crown to you._

Fíli visibly flinched. 

_I must know what you intend to do._

_Intend…?_

_For yourself and Kíli. Tharkûn and I will help you in any way we can, but you need to tell me what you want._

_What I want._ Before Dís’ eyes, something akin to Thorin’s old intensity overtook her quiet child. Even his voice was Thorin’s voice: low, raw, passionate. _I used to think I wanted the Crown. I saw how much Uncle desired it. He would rule and I would learn at his side. Erebor was our fate._ He paused. Too long stifled, the truth had distilled itself down to three drops of venom: _I loathe it._

Dís narrowed her eyes. _Would it be so hateful if Kíli were there? Would you not rule if he stood by your side?_

_If I had a choice as he does… I would choose as he does, and never go back. But I can’t. The line of Durin—_

_Let it die._

Shock rippled across her son’s face, but Dís could no longer hold back. _It will anyway. There will be no more sons after you. How could there be? And even if you did what you thought was your duty, you would be parted from your brother, whom you love. Can you really want this?_

_No. No. Without him I cannot be King or anything else._ Robbed of his careful pretense at calm, he lowered his head once again to the floor, trembling like a prisoner in the dock. _I cannot live._

Before her son's last word had left his mouth, Dís cast herself to her knees before him and pushed him back upright with unexpected mother-strength. _Then listen to me. I did not birth you in order to doom you to misery. I am sick to my soul of paying for Erebor with living sacrifice. I will not add my sons to that pyre._

Fíli gripped her shoulders, afraid to breathe. 

_The people are restless for a ruler; they have waited and hoped for so long, _Dís told him. _But Dáin they know as they have never known you. Tharkûn believes that they will accept him if he is willing to ascend. He is of the blood and follows you in the royal line. He will no doubt accept the Crown if it is offered him. But you must be the one to offer it. You must tell him face to face._

For the first time since this conversation began, Fíli’s eyes confessed hope. Dís took his face between her palms and kissed the very center of his brow. 

_You and Kíli will be free, then,_ she said. _But – listen to me now – that prize will come at a price. No hereditary King of our folk has ever refused the Crown before. The people will not understand. They expected Thorin to be King; they lost him. Now they expect you, and to lose you as well— it may be more than they will calmly take. In time they will forgive, but it may be best that…_ She hung her head, willing the words to rise. _That you go._

Despair reared up once more. How quickly it found a foothold in him! Dís placed her hands on his shoulders to shake courage back into him. _Not as one banished; you'd be given a place. And not for ever; just… at first. Will you put your trust in me and Tharkûn?_

_I already do._ Fíli pressed his nose to hers. Then, so inevitably Dís nearly laughed: _May I tell Kíli?_

_So little is certain, my love, I would rather you wait. Say nothing of the leaving, but you may tell him I spoke with you about... well, the two of you. Fíli! _Dís took hold of his sidelocks to draw his face to hers. The words she was about to say _(why, Mahal, do you make a mother speak thus to her son?)_ needed to be kept close between them. 

_You both… you must also… _She coughed in embarrassment. _It’s one thing to be as you’ve always been and do as you’ve always done— everyone's used to that. But your room is the safest place for…_ She gestured weakly, exasperated by her own inhibition. Now was no time for it! _No one will open a door that is closed, do you follow my meaning?_

Pink-faced, Fíli dropped his eyes. _Yes._

_Anywhere else but there, be only brothers. Understand?_

_Yes._

_Then we’ll speak no more of it. _And she laid her blessing hand upon his crown.


	7. Trust

They sat side by side on a stone parapet, watching their island melt into the sinking sun. The Elves had their Undying Land, accessible only to them; Fíli and Kíli had Himling, inaccessible except in dreams. They knew they could not touch it from where they sat, yet their eyes strayed toward it the way that Thorin’s had toward Aszâlul’abad. 

Kíli drummed his heels against the wall, jubilant at being forgiven and having an afternoon with Tharkûn all to himself. He chattered to Fíli about the mellow weather, the ponies’ moods, the wild angelica ripe for forage, and of course Dajnûna. _(And listen to this: she has a mate! Her belly is big! Our Dajnûna!)_

Tharkûn had questioned Kíli closely about his fits. Did his spirit travel long distances? Where did it go; what did it see? _He thinks it might be a g... a gift,_ Kíli prattled. _Something good to come out of something bad. He says I could learn to use it—_

Fíli gently drew a fingertip over his brother's cheekbone to distract him from his word-torrent. _Zanid..._ He paused, hating to divert good feelings into dangerous places. But it must be risked. 

_What we do together... what we are... when Mother found out, it upset her very much. You know that._

Kíli winced and bowed his head. 

Fíli again caressed his brother’s cheek. _She asked Tharkûn for counsel; that's why he came. They want to help us._

_How?_

_They don’t know, quite yet. But they mean to. Do you trust what I say, beautiful man?_

_Yes. _Kíli did not hesitate, though he spiraled a lock of Fíli’s hair around his forefinger to calm himself. 

_Then you must also trust them._ Fíli now looked hard into his brother’s eyes. _Kílimê, Mother knows how we feel about each other. She doesn't want us to go away, and she doesn't ask that we stop. But she wants us to be more… we have to keep this... _He dipped his cheek towards his brother's hand. _Secret. Private._

Chastened, Kíli snatched his hand away. 

_No! I didn’t mean—_ Fíli caught Kíli’s wrist and swiftly kissed it. _It’s just... we can’t get so caught up in how we feel that we forget to behave properly in front of other people._

With a rascal’s arched eyebrow, Kíli moved out of Fíli’s reach and signed with his hands. 

_(Is this proper enough for you?)_

_Oh, first you stop touching me; now you’re going to stop speaking to me?_

_(I AM speaking to you.)_

_(Fine, have it your way— I'll speak like this, too, and you can keep sitting all the way over there.)_

_Mim,_ Kíli replied out loud. His hand-signs were more disjointed this time, rushing to keep pace with the bottled-up contents of his mind. 

_(I sit here where I can look at you. I love your face. I love all of you. I don't care who knows or sees.)_

A sweet pain wracked Fíli’s heart. Perhaps in days to come, Dís' prescribed caution would come to rule all of his deeds, but in that moment he cared as little as Kíli who might guess his heart's desire just by looking.


	8. Trespasser

_Mim, _said Kíli. _Look at Himling. Do you see?_

They stood watching a pinpoint of light where no light ought to be. 

They had been gathering themselves to go home when Kíli spotted it. The slender crimson rim of the horizon had guided his archer’s eyes directly to it: a tiny, flickering _ignis fatuus_ across the dark water, out of place under any circumstances but especially on that island, their island. 

_Whoever they are, they’re tre… trespassing, _Kíli bristled. 

_Sea-gale blast and lightning strike them._ Fíli feigned unconcern, but in the twilight he saw that Kíli wore his fierce look— unwise to take lightly; even more so to ignore. He lowered his voice. _What is it, brother?_

_Elves from the Havens n-never stray off-course. And even if they did, they live by light; one small beach fire wouldn’t be enough._

_For a Man, maybe._

_But what would he seek there at night?_ Kíli’s frown deepened, as did his voice, now as steady as an arrow against a bowstring. _No orcs have been seen here since the elder days. And they’d come from the east, not the west. Yes?_

Eyes narrowing as he gazed at the horizon, Fíli slowly began to nod. 

_Have you ever seen a light out there? Ever? We watched out the window so much, Thh…Thorin couldn’t have lit a pipe out there without us knowing,_ muttered Kíli. He groped for and squeezed Fíli’s hand. _Someone is there._

_What’s the reason, do you think?_

_Because you are here._

Fíli studied his brother’s profile, faintly visible against the deepening indigo sky. _You are looking out for me, 'ibinê,_ he said. 

The spoken endearment was enough to appease Kíli. He nudged Fíli's shoulder with his own and signed his reply. 

_(I guard what is mine.)_


	9. The Oak Grove

Early the next morning, Fíli slipped out from under the covers and arranged his share around a drowsy Kíli. _I won’t be gone long,_ he whispered and kissed his brother's temple. 

At the stables, Tharkûn’s horse and Fíli’s own pony were saddled and ready. Tharkûn nodded to him and patted the saddlebag to show that Bilbo’s tunic and letter were safe inside. 

As they began the amble down to the oak grove, Tharkûn glanced at the rider next to him— at his profile, straight and fine, noble like Thorin’s; at the long scar visible through his unbraided golden hair. Fíli’s proud carriage he discounted somewhat, for he knew it to be a front. 

_Yet an effective one, _he allowed. _It forbids precisely what he fears: questions._

Still, when Fíli returned his companion's gaze, his expression offered true, unforced goodwill. Ever since Tharkûn had looked inside his soul, trust had begun to dwell there alongside hope for the future. This morning was a gift, glistening and fresh. It was enough to ride through it peaceably, side by side with his friend. 

_After the Shire, I will ride on to Dáin,_ said Tharkûn. _He has been permitted to cross at Rivendell and is currently Lord Elrond's guest. I cannot speak to him for you, as you know. But I can interfere in the time-honored way of kindly old wizards— with subtle counsel._

_You’ll have to disguise it pretty well,_ observed Fíli. _Thorin used to say that Dáin could see through stone because his head was even harder._

_I will try my best to penetrate it. _Tharkûn plucked a bit of straw from his horse’s mane. _And you?_

_I’ll do as you and Mother advise._

_I think Dáin may be the least of your difficulties,_ Tharkûn mused. _You have yet to tell Master Ninur._

_I know. He came all this way for nothing._

_It’s not the distance, my boy; it’s the pupil. He_ likes _you, you know- though as he tells it, you _are_ a handful._

Fíli gave a short laugh. _Then he cannot be surprised when I lay this latest boulder in the path._

_Appeal to him for understanding, then. The support of one such as Ninur will accomplish much for your cause._

Three oaks – one vast, two smaller, like a mother and her daughters – marked the customary parting point. As Fíli and Tharkûn passed into their shade, the latter urged his mount around to face the former. 

_You and your brother are embarking on a journey that shall not long remain hidden from others, _Tharkûn said. _I have seen down the road, and I can tell you that you do not travel it alone. Friends are to be found all along the way. Consider me the first._

_I do, Tharkûn. _Fíli bowed his head in farewell. Then - impulsively, in a voice more childlike than any Tharkûn had ever heard from him - he added this poignant plea: _Come back to us soon; very, very soon._

The old man smiled. _That, too, I have seen down the road._


End file.
